It had to be enough that they knew.
Give me the necklace, Lev ordered at the time.
Whenever Bea sees it against his throat, she’s transported to that night in the farmhouse, Foster’s body pressed against hers and his mouth everywhere. She’s supposed to live in the shame of her sin when she sees it, but Bea cannot accept her sin, cannot accept shame, when the result was Emmy. She cannot regret creating something so pure. Emmy is the antithesis of all the darkness Lev has said lives inside Bea. Emmy is the closest thing to God that she knows.
Lev understands this about Bea—and he will not give up on her.
You are my greatest challenge. Your sin lives so deeply within you, you can’t recognize it anymore, but I will make you see it, no matter how long it takes. I will save you.
Foster is saved. His redemption took a different shape and sometimes Bea suspects his absolution is an extension of her punishment. He was called to the floor and stood in front of their brothers and sisters, and though they were not told the details of his trespass, it was enough for Lev to say one had been committed. Foster offered his body to Lev, a living sacrifice, and Bea remembers his screams, remembers wishing it could have been that easy for her. After Foster recovered, he was moved to the base. He was made security. He sees Emmy all the time, enjoys the designation of uncle—less than father but still, a name, access to her love. Foster is blanketed by Lev’s forgiveness.
It keeps the two of them separate from each other.
When Emmy celebrated her first birthday, they’d given her cake. Bea had delighted, from the far side of the room, as Emmy sat in her high chair and got it all over her face and hands in that perfect way babies mess. When Casey swooped in to clean Emmy’s chubby little fingers and face with a damp cloth, Emmy reached for her. Wanted for her. It bore a hurt so visceral in Bea—her child, reaching for another woman—that she thought she would die. She slipped from the room and found a quiet corner of the house to cry in and that was where Foster found her. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, her heart thrummed wildly inside her.
Are you all right? he’d asked and she jerked away from him, wondering if Lev had sent him, if this was some kind of test. Then, taking in her tearstained and devastated face, he’d asked, Is this the right thing? Have we done the right thing?
And she was sure that it was.
Who are you to question Lev?
Foster had stepped back, stunned, and she was not rewarded for her obedience and now she no longer knows what the truth of that moment was.
She thinks of it now, on Emmy’s third birthday, watching from the back of the room as everyone surrounds her and sings her the song. She blows out the candle and spits all over the cake. Tears well in Bea’s eyes, but she stays because she doesn’t want to lose another of Emmy’s milestones to her pain; she’s lost enough already. Her eyes meet Foster’s across the room. Later, she stands in that same quiet corner he’d found her in two years before, hoping he’ll find her this time, ask those same questions again. He doesn’t.
MARCH 2018
When I wake Emmy in the morning, she reaches for me.
She buries her head in my neck, sleepy-eyed and content, as I carry her into the kitchen. I’m still not totally used to the full force of her need, her affection. I always reciprocate after a moment’s wonder—the wonder of her small body in my arms, the feel of the fast beat of her tiny heart against my chest.
I can’t understand Bea walking away from this.
I set her on the floor to play and get to work flexing culinary muscles I never saw much use for when the meals I was making were only for myself. Everything Emmy eats has to complement ketchup—her favorite “food”—so it’s home fries and scrambled eggs. If I’m lucky, a few of those things will find their way into her belly after she’s licked them clean.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asks as the food sizzles in the pan. I move to pour myself a coffee, but Emmy is underfoot, and I narrowly avoid knocking her down and spilling hot coffee all over her head. “Shit!” I say, and she covers her mouth in shock, and then I tell her never to say that word. She smiles impishly. I’ve watched Foster do this a hundred times, navigating every part of the space she takes up without incident, and wonder if I could trust myself enough to get that good at just existing with her.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asks again.
“He’s talking to Casey and Uncle Foster about important things. After you eat, we can go see him.” I put my hand on her shoulder and move her back when one of the potatoes crackles and spits grease. “Careful of the stove, Emmy.”
She clasps her hands behind her in who me? fashion. It reminds me so much of Bea.
When breakfast is ready, I put her in her booster seat and then I plate up, dousing the food in Heinz before placing it in front of her. She says, hmm! as she inspects her meal. The tiny fork does not meet her approval and she decides her hands better suit her purposes. I pick at what’s left in the pans while she eats and tells me a halting, mashed-up story of what I think might be a few different TV shows. I try to follow along as she struggles to eat and explain this fabulous world she’s pieced together.
Soon, she’s raising her ketchup-stained hands to be let out of her seat. She grudgingly accepts a cleanup first. She fits neatly on my hip as I lead us out of the kitchen, down the hall to the Great Room, where she’s waylaid by her “horsey.” Atara adores Emmy, treats her with such gentle care. Emmy can tug on her ears and pull her tail and inspire no aggression—only love. Atara licks at Emmy’s face, no doubt scenting breakfast on her breath. Emmy breaks into hysterics. Beyond her giggling, I hear voices floating down the hall from the direction of Casey’s office. I tell Emmy to stay with the dog, that I’ll be right back.
Casey’s door is open a sliver and as I approach it, I hear her ask, “What did the landlord say?” I slow my pace and listen, though if I was meant to hear any of this, I’d be in that room.
Foster answers. “He ditched the place early 2017—”
“What about other residents? Did you ask around?”
“Bad side of town. High turnover. Anyone who was around then isn’t there anymore.”
“He can’t just have disappeared.”
“But that’s exactly what he did because he knew we’d seek him out,” Lev says. I creep even closer. “Look: we can account for Rob from here…” Rob? I hear the shuffle of papers. “To here. And now he’s gone.”
“My dad has contacts who specialize in this,” Casey says. “But he’s not taking my calls.”
The floor creaks under my feet and the conversation in the room comes to a sudden halt. I knock lightly on the door and push it open, pretending I heard none of that, my eyes finding Lev’s, hoping they don’t give anything away. I’ll ask him about it—just not right now. I tell him Emmy’s done with her breakfast, that she’s asking for him.
“Thank you, Lo.” He glances at Foster. “You two should head out.”
“You ready?” Foster asks me.
I am.
I follow the journey back to Morel on my phone, only sometimes finding the courage to glance at the changing scenery outside. I wonder if, when I’m baptized, this is one of those parts of me the water will wash away. Every time I do manage a successful peek, I see hints of spring. That clean, green feeling is only just in the air.